JackO'Lantern
by Sister Damned
Summary: Number 4 searches for a pumpkin days before halloween, he finds it and carves it. Little did he know of the consequences he has to face to make a small adjustment. T, just to be safe.


The Jack-o'-Lantern

A very scary story featuring Wallabee Beetles, Number Four, finds a pumpkin and carves it for Halloween; little did he know the consequences he has to face to make a small adjustment. M, for a little gore.

Note – Number Four isn't a child; he is 17 in this fan-fic! Thanks for wasting 5 seconds reading this note.

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The troublemaker, Wallabee Beetles, began searching for a pumpkin days before Halloween. He spent hours wandering through muddy pumpkin patches, picking through miles of leathery vines. His jack-o'-lantern had to be just right, there couldn't be a flat spot on one side or an unripened green patch. Shape didn't matter-tall or fat, it had to be perfect.

Finally, after hours of searching and turning over and judging hundreds of pumpkins, he found it. It was an enormously round specimen with wide ridges and warty flesh. He bundled the pumpkin in an old blanket and gingerly loaded it into the trunk of his car, padding it with dirty T-shirts and shorts left over from the summer. At seventeen, Wallabee was tall and strong, but it had been all he could do to lift the giant gourd by himself

By the time the young Australian returned home with his prize, the sun hung low and sleepy on the horizon. Long shadows groped over the ground, and a chilly breeze rattled autumn-dried leaves. The house was dark and empty.

He kicked off his muddied sneakers, spread newspapers over the kitchen table, and retrieved a pair of knives from the cupboard. Squatting next to the huge pumpkin, Wallabee wrapped his arms around its great girth and with a low grunt hefted it to the table. The stiff, curled stem scraped his chest, putting a small rip in his T-shirt. Cursing, he pulled off his shirt, revealing his developing abs and adjusted his backward-turned baseball cap.

Wallabee plunged a large carving knife into the top of the gourd. It made a hollow _thump_. He sliced around the leathery stem and pulled off the lid, gooey strands of yellow-orange pumpkin guts stringing behind. The air filled with a strong sweet smell: the unmistakable odor of pumpkin innards. He stood on his toes to reach deeply into the enormous fruit, inserting both arms nearly to the shoulders into the cold, slimy, sticky goop, his bare chest pressed against the warty rind. With his fingers he dug deeper into the strands, pulling out handfuls of stringy, seed-filled pulp and depositing it on the newspapers with a wet _thwack_. When he pulled out all he could with he his hands, he gouged in with a spoon, scraping the cavity smooth.

The teen took a step back to study the surface of the pumpkin, his arms and chest smeared with yellow-orange goop. He ran his hand over the warty surface, letting his fingers trace the wide ridges that ran top to bottom. A face began to take form in his mind-a wide grinning, glaring face. Carefully, he set about carving out the features with the smaller knife. As he plunged the blade through the flesh, it moaned, deep and hollow. Slowly, he cut up and down. First the eyes-sharp inverted crescents like the moon turned on its side. Then the nose-a smooth triangular shape.

He stepped back again to scrutinize the slowly forming face. The deep orange rind shone brightly under the kitchen lights. There was another hollow thump as the small blade plunged back in. He cut high up one side, down, and up the other, carving out the jagged fanged mouth. Finally it was finished, the great maw grinning shark like and wide.

All that was left was the candle. He had a special one just for his jack -o'-lantern. It was black, as big around as a coffee can, and half as tall. The foil sticker on the bottom claimed it was midnight scented, whatever that was.

With a flick of his cigarette lighter, the candle sprang to life. He turned off the kitchen lights; the jack-o'-lantern glowed, light spilling from the carved holes, shadow ghosts dancing over the walls and ceiling. The face looked almost alive, eyes squinting, mouth cracking a wider grin.

In the weird flickering light, the pile of pumpkin guts on the newspaper seemed to wriggle like maggots.

The candle tipped slightly and it sputtered. Wallabee knelt down, eye level with the wide cracked grin, so that he could see better inside.

He pressed closer, His face nearly touching the thick rind. The acrid smell burned his nostrils. He reached through the great maw into the pumpkin to right the candle.

Wallabee hardly knew what had happened when he suddenly fell back. There was a moan and a crunch. Dazed, he tried to pick himself up, only to find that his right hand was missing. It had been _bitten_ off at the wrist.

THE END

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Diana – Yup! That's a story, too bad I didn't release this in Halloween instead… oh,well at least you got a scary story to tell your friends on Halloween night or at a slumber party. You know me; I make fan-fics where _someone_ has to die.

Please review nicely, no negative comments! XD


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